


Short Handed

by trillingstar



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Blow Job Fridays Challenge, Blow Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot, Semipublic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-15
Updated: 2010-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 21:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No hands," John grates out.  "It's your turn, and you owe me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Short Handed

**Author's Note:**

> Started as comment!fic for a semi-public blowjob prompt, but then it... grew. *g*
> 
> Thank you to [neevebrody](http://archiveofourown.org/users/neeve_fic) for the inspiration, and to [rustler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rustler), for her superb beta, and to [blackchaps](http://archiveorourown.org/users/blackchaps) for persuasive arguments and final polish.  
> 

  
During dinner, when John kicks him under the table and waggles his eyebrows, Rodney's first thought is, _thank god, yes_. It's been more than three days since he's put his hands all over John, and he is beyond ready.

They're walking toward the labs; Rodney has two more simulations to check on before they head back to quarters, so the deviation from their usual roundabout path surprises him, uncertainty melting into anticipation when John pushes him into a - well, nook would probably be the best word for it, even though it's more like a mostly triangular-shaped bit of extra space between the end of the hallway and a set of stairs.

Rodney smacks his knee on the pot holding a tall, leafy fern that clearly has been stuck here because no one knows where to put it, and John crams in after him, nudging the plant into the hall behind them with his foot. It would do a poor job of concealing them if anyone cared to look past it. Already Rodney's shoulders protest unhappily at hunching over to fit in the nook, as the wall slopes at a forty-five degree angle, T-boning the stairs.

He's just opened his mouth to question the logic behind this pit stop when John grabs his wrists, pulling them behind Rodney's back and tightening his grip.

"No hands," John grates out. "It's your turn, and you owe me."

Okay, so Rodney had been hoping this would be more of a mutual satisfaction sort of appointment, stretched out face-to-feet on Rodney's bed, both of their mouths busy sucking cock, but John's right. It is Rodney's turn several times over, and to be honest, the level of risk involved - what if someone did look past the plant, or came by to water it, or happened to look down while climbing the stairs - okay, truthfully, the fear of discovery isn't doing a damn thing but keep Rodney's dick as hard as it's been since John wrapped his fingers around Rodney's wrists. _Rodney Dangerslut McKay_ , and he quashes an ill-timed laugh.

John flips them around so that he's standing under the stairs, the top of his hair brushing the underside of one of the steps. He looks at Rodney meaningfully, squeezing Rodney's wrists once more before leaning back a couple of inches and flicking open the top button on his pants.

"You can do the rest yourself," he says, voice serious, but he's struggling to keep a smile off his face.

Rodney tries to keep the smirk off his own face, but he's never been particularly good at hiding smugness, especially when it comes to oral dexterity. He kneels down shakily, thighs spread wide for balance, and the slant of the wall at his back forcing his head forward. Sparing a thought for John's admirable recon skills - this is actually a neat little setup, and next time it will be John on his knees - Rodney leans, nudging John's hand aside with his nose, and goes straight for the zipper, tugging it down with his teeth.

A few minutes later, Rodney's cursing his so-called oral dexterity, because so far he's only succeeded in taking tiny swipes at John's cock through the slit of his boxers, and it's incredibly annoying to not be able to use his hands. What had seemed sexy a minute ago - mouthing, nuzzling at and wetting the head of John's cock through the fabric of his boxers - has now turned the front of John's shorts into a cooling, sodden mess, and Rodney's managed to face-plant in John's crotch four times. Every time he works one side of John's boxers down, the elastic rolls back up when he attacks the other side. He grumbles in frustration after the latest failed attempt.

Above him, John laughs quietly.

Rodney latches onto John's thigh with his teeth.

"Ow, fuck!"

Rodney smiles grimly. He's had enough of this bullshit. He starts to rock back on his heels, hits his head on the wall with a muted thump, and snaps, "Get your goddamn dick out right this minute."

It's not as though they have time to waste; if Rodney's forced to stay on his knees like this for too long, his legs will cramp, and it's sheer luck that no one's wandered past yet. On top of everything, they have to remember to be quiet, and that's neither of their strong suits.

John shoves his pants and boxers down, strokes his dick a few times, and then holds it up, his balls at eye-level for Rodney. The smell of arousal is thick in the air, and Rodney takes a deep breath, opening his mouth in anticipation. John raises up on his tiptoes and feeds Rodney his balls, and they both groan; Rodney's is muted, his chin pushed between John's legs, nose tickled by hairs. It's an awkward angle and there's drool gathering at the corner of Rodney's mouth. Yes, fine, sucking John's cock makes his mouth water. Hell, even the prospect of it compels him to swallow a few times. Then John's dragging his sac back and forth across Rodney's lips, and Rodney unclasps his hands from behind his back, wedging them under his thighs so he's not tempted to catch John by the hips and suck him down. Instead he tries to follow with his tongue when John moves away, changing his stance. A rough noise of disappointment edges out of Rodney's throat.

"I know," John whispers sympathetically, and then he's guiding his cock into Rodney's mouth, one hand cupped around the back of Rodney's head.

Closing his eyes in relief, Rodney sucks desperately, moving his tongue in wide swathes, then patterns of circles, up and down and around until John exhales sharply and thrusts. When Rodney falls forward this time, it's on purpose. John shivers, and oh, Rodney wants to touch him so much that it's easy to ignore his own hard cock throbbing in his pants.

"Feels so good," John murmurs. Rodney whines softly, sucking harder, then pulling back, returning to John's nuts, running his tongue from balls to the base of John's dick over and over.

It's messy and slick and Rodney feels spit drying on his cheek. He grins happily, taking a deep breath before sliding his mouth down again, and when John asks for his hands, he grabs hold of John's thighs gratefully. The relief at not being off-balance is immediate, made even better when John covers Rodney's hands with his own, trapping them, pushed hard against his legs. Now Rodney can lean and concentrate on falling into the motion, the pleasure of it, his mouth working in a steady rhythm, lips tightening and loosening around John.

John's hips jerk forward and Rodney opens his mouth wider as John fucks into his mouth, a little clumsily because of the lack of space and his urgency. Rodney hears John's quick breaths, feels the tremors in his thighs and knows that John's close to coming, and now Rodney wants that even more fiercely, lashing his tongue underneath and sucking harder.

He looks up, expecting John's face to be lost in shadow, but there's a thin shaft of pale light coming through the gap in the steps, and he can see John's expression clearly: there's devotion and love layered behind the immediacy of lust and heat in his eyes. John growls, low in his throat, when he catches Rodney watching.

Digging his fingers into John's thighs, Rodney sucks air in through his nose, quivering, finally sparing a thought for his own cock wetting his boxers and straining against the zipper of his pants. Closing his eyes, he refocuses on John, pushing the back of his tongue against the head of John's dick in a steady pressure, listening to the soft grunts coming from above him. He moans when the backs of John's knuckles brush down his cheek, trying to open his mouth wider, to surround John with heat and wetness, giving him a hole to fuck into, and then John says, huskily, "Wish I could come on your face," and Rodney's entire body jerks in response. He moans quietly, trying to convey eager desire for that particular scenario.

John pushes his cock into Rodney's mouth until Rodney thinks he might choke on it; Rodney swallows around him and then John comes, shooting down Rodney's throat and god, every time Rodney's on his knees for John is better than the time before.

Rodney sucks a little more, keeping John half-hard and panting, his hand clenching around Rodney's hand still laid flat on John's thigh.

"Hands," John gasps, and Rodney uncurls his stiff fingers, letting out the tension and John helps him to his feet. There's just enough room for them to both stand straight if they're plastered together, and John wastes no time kissing Rodney, shoving his tongue into Rodney's mouth, biting at his lips and tilting his head to suck at the tender skin at the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Rodney shivers, moving his hips against John's body, inhaling short, hopeful breaths.

John presses a kiss to the corner of Rodney's mouth. "If you can make it back to your room, you can fuck me."

Rodney makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and comes, glaring at John while he shakes, grinding against John's leg, arms wrapped around him in a hard hug.

"Yeah, didn't think so," John says, a moment later, grinning the lazy grin of the sated and fulfilled, and Rodney grins back, because he's so there, too.

They sag against each other for a few more minutes, until the hall echoes with the sounds of people approaching their hiding place, and there isn't time to do much else beyond zipping up John's pants. John helps with Rodney's shirt, tugging it back into place, and Rodney catches one hand, kissing John's forearm, his wrist, his first two fingers.

John smiles dopily, catching Rodney's mouth in a final, slow kiss. "My room in ten?"

Rodney nods absently, still licking the taste of John from his teeth.

"And don't get caught up in the lab. Ten minutes or I'm starting without you," John threatens.

"Liar," Rodney says smugly.

"Guess you'll have to show up to find out." John freezes, his eyes widening, and he slips a finger over Rodney's lips. "Shhhhhh," he breathes out.

They're standing so close that Rodney feels the thump of John's heart against his chest, and then he stops breathing when two people jog down the stairs right in front of them, the breeze of their passing ruffling the tips of John's hair. It's two women Rodney recognizes from the ethnolinguistics department chattering in - Swedish, he thinks, tilting his head for better acoustics. There's a certain strident note to their voices and neither one so much as glances to the side as they move past, fully dedicated to their debate.

"Ten, or else," John mouths against Rodney's ear, and then he's pushing past Rodney and trotting up the stairs.

Rodney surveys the damage to his pants, untucks his shirt, and hopes the camouflage works. The simulations in his lab are just that, anticipated results, and they can wait, at least until John passes out, and Rodney's got some theories on how to achieve that goal.


End file.
